


Brotherhood

by coolstarboy



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Altmer Dovahkiin, Gen, Mentions of Blood, Nonbinary Character, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 15:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6760204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolstarboy/pseuds/coolstarboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>broth·er·hood<br/>noun<br/>1. the relationship between brothers.<br/>2. an association, society, or community of people linked by a common interest, religion, or trade.<br/>---<br/>short fic about cicero and his listener</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brotherhood

**Author's Note:**

> basically a little novelization of "the cure for madness," from ciceros pov
> 
> the dragonborn/listener is an altmer, and theyre trans (nonbinary). i didnt give them a name because i still havent figured one out

Cicero curled in on himself, groaning lowly. Blood pooled around his body, and the taste of copper filled his mouth. Arnbjorn had seriously injured him. How could he allow this to happen? His poor Mother, alone with those _defilers,_ those _monsters_ who dared to disgrace her good name. Cicero felt sick. He knew the Listener would be there any moment; that was just how it was. They always took care of the hard things themselves, and he knew Arnbjorn was too hurt to carry out the job properly. He smiled bitterly. At least he had that to think of.

A loud creak of the main door snapped Cicero from his thoughts. The Listener had arrived. Pain filled his little heart. His good friend, the Listener, here to kill him. He had to put up some kind of fight. He couldn’t let the Night Mother be alone; he knew nobody else in the Brotherhood knew how to care for her, if they even would. But to kill the Listener? As if that wasn’t bad enough, the Listener was his friend. Ever since they had helped him back at Loreius farm, they had been near inseparable. But he knew they loved the Brotherhood more than almost anything, and he knew they didn’t want to be thrown out by Astrid. So he accepted the fact; the Listener was there to kill him.

His body was racked with pain. “Oh, Listener! Is that you? Oh, I knew you’d come! Send the best to defeat the best! Astrid knew her stupid wolf couldn’t slay sly Cicero,” he called out. Grimacing, he pushed down on his wound. The traps. He had set the traps on his way in, just in case. He knew his old home better than anyone. The Listener won’t make it to him, they couldn’t possibly. He felt a stab of sadness. There was finally a Listener, finally, after years of silence from the Night Mother, and now only them or her only Keeper would walk out alive.

“Oh, but this isn’t at all what Mother would want! You kill the Keeper or I kill the Listener? Now that’s madness!” he yelled, his voice straining with pain. He was afraid his shouts fell on deaf ears, for there was no response from the Listener. He heard fighting, he knew he did, and he knew it was the Listener from the battlecries. He silently thanked Sithis that the guardians of the Sanctuary still fought to defend him.

He heard the spears activate, pushing from the wall with a loud scrape. “Ouch! Pointy, pointy! My home is well defended, I always have been a stickler for details! Get it? ‘Stick-ler,’” he laughed loudly. “Oh, I slay me!” Part of him hoped that these traps would just make the Listener leave. That they would deem him unworthy of their energy and turn back. But he knew his Listener, and he knew that they would stop at nothing, especially when their family was at stake. He giggled quietly. Stake.

Snapping back to reality, he heard the Listener’s battlecry once more. They weren’t dead? 

“You’re… Still alive. Cicero respects the Listener’s abilities, of course, but could you at least slow down a bit? I’m afraid I’m not what I used to be,” he called out, laughing nervously. 

The fighting died down for a moment. He glanced at the door nearest to him. It sounded like they were just outside, in the main room, with the table and fireplace. His face split into a grin. That meant the Listener would have to go through the ice tunnel next. 

“Brrr! Chilly! You’ll enjoy this. Not an original part of the Sanctuary, per se. Let’s call it a ‘forced addition,’” Cicero shouted, mischief dripping from his voice. “Forced by what? Oh, come and see!” He chuckled deviously to himself. He knew the Frost Troll would at least wound the Listener, if not kill them. He tried to convince himself this was a good thing. He tried to remember that the Listener was his enemy now.

A loud, animalistic roar that was quickly cut short drove that thought from his mind. The Listener had made quick work of the Troll. Cicero began to grow desperate. He suddenly thought to try and justify himself. The listener sided with him, didn’t they? They would understand his reasoning.

“All right, so Cicero attacked that harlot, Astrid,” he pleaded. “But what is a fool to do, when his Mother is slandered and mocked? Surely the Listener understands?” Silence was his answer. “Well, you’re a good listener, if nothing else…” he muttered, chuckling darkly. 

“Cicero admits, he thought the Listener would be dead by now.” Cicero raised his voice again, running his sticky, bloodied fingers over his hat. He thought it would stain, but he realized, grimly, that he probably won’t have to worry about laundry much longer. He laughed again. “Maybe we could just forget about this? Hmm? Let bygones be bygones? What do you say?”

More silence, closer fighting. Cicero began to shake. His thoughts were only for the Night Mother. He worried for the state of her corpse. He hadn’t oiled her yet that day. Would the Listener allow him to teach them how to preserve her before they sent him to the Void? 

“If it’s any comfort, I do feel slightly bad about Veezara,” his voice shook, but malice entered his tone as he continued. “Stupid lizard got in my way. But please tell me that hulking sheepdog has bled to death.” He heard the Listener’s footsteps now. They were just outside. He began praying to his Mother and Sithis in his mind. 

“And now… We come to the end of our play. The grand finale,” he deadpanned. Cicero felt completely exhausted. He hoped the Listener would have a heart and finish him quickly. His wound hurt more and more as the time passed. He went over his regrets, and the only real one was not at least writing down how to preserve his poor Mother. Along with, of course, not being good enough to be the Listener himself. But he supposed he could inquire about that himself soon enough. He heard the door open, and the Listener approached.

“You caught me, I surrender,” he laughed. Cicero was absolutely terrified. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to leave his Mother alone with the Brotherhood, no one to care for her. He didn’t want his best friend to kill him. The Listener remained silent. What was with them and being silent? He realized that if the Listener wasn’t threatening to kill him, then maybe they would spare him. He had a brilliant, if desperate, idea.

“Oh, you still prefer to listen, eh? Of course, of course!” His vision blurred a bit. He couldn’t tell if it was blood loss or tears. He laughed, his voice bitter and full of fear. “The Listener listens! A joke! A funny joke! I get it!” The Listener wasn’t laughing.

He swallowed. His mouth was dry. “Then listen to this - don’t kill me. Let poor Cicero live!” he pleaded desperately. “I attacked the strumpet Astrid, I did! And I’d do it again! Anything for our Mother!” He hoped that saying our Mother would soften the Listener. He knew they sided with him about her. “Return to the pretender, tell her I’m dead,” he continued. “Tell her you strangled me with my own intestines!” He laughed grimly. “But lie! Yes, lie! Lie and let me live!”

Cicero paused for a moment, and sighed. He felt a hundred years older than he was. “Do what you will. Cicero has no fight left. In the end, Sithis will judge us both.” He lay his cheek down on the cool concrete floor. It was no use. The Listener would kill the Keeper. He began to think. He hadn’t had a bad life, he supposed. He wondered if he would get to see his old friends in the void. His side hurt, and blood still poured out of it. He wished the Listener would hurry up.

“Cicero.”

The Listener finally spoke, but their tone was… Unreadable. Cicero picked his head up and looked at them. They were only a few feet away. They looked even taller than Cicero was used to, but that was probably because he was their target now, not the one fighting by their side. He strained to study their face - or, what he could see of their face - and was shocked to see tears in their golden eyes. The Listener was about to cry.

“Listener…?” Cicero breathed. 

The Listener quickly walked over and dropped to their knees next to him. He flinched away, not understanding, and they met his eyes. Their eyes were full of pain and concern, like a mother for their child. He scooted closer to them, slowly, wincing at the pain in his side. They looked happy about that, and turned to the side.

“Here, drink this,” they said after rummaging in their bag for a moment. They handed him a healing potion. “I’ll do my best to heal you with magic, but I’m not that great.” Their hands glowed gold, and Cicero felt his wound knitting together. He quickly sat up on his elbows and downed the potion, but he was still confused.

“Listener, aren’t you going to kill me?” he asked. They looked up from their hands and pulled down their mask, revealing the rest of their face. Worry was etched into their features, and their golden skin shone with sweat.

“Are you kidding me? I would never hurt you, Cicero,” they said. They almost sounded offended that Cicero would think that. “You know I’m on your side. I came because I was so worried about you, gods damn it!” 

Cicero was completely taken aback. After he worked through the surprise, he began to laugh. He layed back down and laughed and laughed, clapping his hands together. He was elated. He wasn’t going to die after all! The Listener sniffled and rolled their eyes at him, smiling. After they wiped at their eyes, careful of their makeup, they turned and rummaged in their bag again.

“Here,” they said, pulling out a sad-looking piece of bread and handing it to Cicero. “It’s a little… Squished, but it’ll do. I have cheese, too, if you want to make a sandwich, and I might have wine…” They continued to rummage, and Cicero took the bread and cheese gladly and scarfed them down. He felt a thousand times better. The Listener looked at him seriously again. “Cicero, I might agree with you, but they can’t know this happened. I don’t know if you’ll ever even be able to come back to the Sanctuary after what you did.” Cicero visibly deflated, and the Listener’s tone softened as they continued. “You’re going to at least have to go into hiding for now, and I’ll do my best to smooth things over. You _have_ to lay low somewhere. I’ll send word if I get them to forgive you, okay?”

Cicero nodded vigorously, immediately perking up. “Yes, Listener! I understand! Cicero will be fine, he promises! Now you must be off, you have a contract to handle! Remember what killing the Emperor is like, Cicero wants to know in full detail!” he laughed. The Listener was going to help! He knew that Astrid couldn’t refuse their word - she may be the fake leader of the Brotherhood, but the Listener was a thousand times more powerful. The Listener stood. 

“Yeah, I do have to do that. Goodbye, Cicero, please stay safe. Kill well, and often.” They turned and walked out of the torture room.

“Kill well, and often!” Cicero repeated to their retreating figure. He sighed, happy and full of relief. Something deep inside told him that Sithis would make things right soon.


End file.
